Play It Again, Sam
by STEEN aka Christine
Summary: SpoilersWarnings: Ten Big Ones… This short story takes place ten years after the end of the book. I definitely have plans to continue. this someday. We’ll see how it goes.


**Challenge #:34, Ten years later**  
**Author: **Christine (FlyingKit)  
**Title: (tentatively) "Play It Again, Sam."**  
**Rating:** (G)  
**Spoilers/Warnings: **Ten Big Ones… This short story takes place ten years after the end of the book. I have thoughts about continuing this someday. We'll see how it goes.

A throat cleared noisily, interrupting the older woman's cataloguing procedure at the main library checkout desk. Ms. Elsa Wagner, the head librarian of the Trenton facility and seasoned veteran, sighed as she lifted her head to attend to the rude interloper. In the thirty-odd years she had been in this profession she had yet to meet a polite library patron. No amount of scolding seemed to rectify the situation, but Elsa never tired of trying to do her part for polite society. So it came as a surprise when Elsa removed her reading glasses to address the aforementioned person only to find no one standing there.

She had just returned her attention to the logging of the new periodical arrivals when a resounding knock came from the other side of the wooden partition. This time Elsa bent over the desk to find the culprit who was causing such trouble with their practical jokes. She was taken aback to find a small angelic face, complete with a halo of dark ringlets, staring back at her.

"Oh, I'm sorry, dear. I didn't see you there. You startled me. I thought you were one of those heathen Gazzara children; ill-mannered monkeys, the whole lot of them. Although you don't exactly look like a Gazzara, now do you?"

"No, ma'am, I'm not a Gar-whats-it. I'm afraid I don't even know them. My name is Plum, Samantha Plum. But just call me Sam, please; all my friends do." The cherub announced with an outstretched hand. Once Elsa returned the introduction with one of her own, the girl elaborated.

"I'm just visiting Trenton for the summer. It's nice to meet you, ma'am."

_Such a polite young thing,_ Elsa thought appreciatively.

"Plum, you say? That rings a bell. Do you by chance have any family that lives in the area?" When young Miss Plum shook her head, Elsa continued.

"No matter. I hope you enjoy your stay here in Trenton. Now then, can I help you with something, my dear?"

"Can you show me where you keep all the old newspapers?" Sam smiled prettily.

Elsa blinked at the odd request from such a young child. The little girl couldn't be a day over eight.

"Newspapers? Well, what year are you looking for, dear? Everything older than a few months is kept on microfiche," The librarian explained.

"Oh. Well, I need the local ones from about seven years ago."

"Follow me, honey. I get that for you and show you how to use it."

After the librarian demonstrated the appropriate usage of the microfiche machine and made sure the girl was sufficiently comfortable, she took her leave, returning to her tasks.

Over the course of the next hour, Elsa would shift her eyes to check up on the 'cherub,' as she had subconsciously dubbed her. Elsa watched as the girl's shoulders seemed to slump over the course of time. By the seventy-five minute mark, the young Plum was noticeably frustrated. The sneakers kicking against the monitor stand was what gave it away. When the rhythmic 'thump, thump, whack' tempo finally became overwhelming to the nerves, Elsa came to her rescue.

"Need any help, honey?"

"I am looking for an obituary, but I can't seem to find it," Sam asked with ill-concealed hope blazing in her eyes.

They were stunningly brown eyes too. Elsa was astonished she didn't note their unusual caramel color before now. Maybe the sight of all those dark curls against pale skin was what distracted her. This girl was going to be a heart breaker when she grew up. Elsa shook off the thoughts and focused on the task at hand. Elsa was not one to lollygag, and she wasn't about to set precedent now, mooning over a little girl, no matter how cute she was.

"Are you working on a project, dear? I thought elementary teachers didn't assign any homework in the summer unless you are enrolled in summer school." Elsa finished the sentence with distaste openly displayed on her face. What a disappointment, to find out this polite young girl was a lacking in the academic department.

"No, it's personal research, ma'am; family tree stuff," Sam clarified. Someone had told her that people in New Jersey were nosy, but she hadn't believed it; until she met Ms. Wagner, snoop extraordinaire. She had felt the woman staring at her the entire time she had been looking at the microfiche. It made her feel like a rare species of zoo animal. It almost made her wish she were back in friendly Vermont with her family. The key word being 'almost.'

"Oh. Well, in that case, let's see what we can do." Elsa said as she sat down beside Samantha and cued up the machine.

"Hmm, what's the name of the person and the date they died?" Elsa asked.

"Stephanie Michelle Plum. She died on November 7, 2007," Sam answered.

Noting the familiar name, Elsa turned a strange look on the girl before commencing the search. After fifteen minutes Elsa had an answer for her.

"There is no obituary listed for a Stephanie Plum on that date. In fact I can't find any record of Stephanie Plum's death in the archives. I just found ones for Frank and Ellen Plum. Apparently their house burnt down that day."

"That can't be! Check again," was the heated reply Elsa received.

"Young lady, records don't lie. Just look here at this headline…" The irritated words died on Elsa's lips as she turned her head and noted the pallor of the child next to her. She appeared ashen and waxy.

"Are you sure you didn't make a mistake? Stephanie Michelle Plum was the name. She died in that house fire too. That was her parents' house. She was supposed to be there. I was told she tried to rescue them. She died in that fire on November 7th almost seven years ago..." Samantha blurted the info without reservation, forgetting she was with a relative stranger.

"She died. She's dead. They told me she's dead." Samantha whispered with a blank stare.

Elsa, who had never gotten involved in another persons problem in any form in her entire 53 years on this earth, suddenly found herself concerned with a stranger's emotional well being.

"Who was she, honey?" Elsa softly inquired.

"My mother," was the heart rending reply. "She died when I was two years old."

"Oh my stars." Elsa uttered, for once in her life without an adequate reply.

The librarian's expression jolted Samantha out of her shell shock.

"Please check again for me, Ms. Wagner." Unable to resist Samantha's tone more than anything else, Elsa did so.

The next hour was spent diligently reading all the information on the life and times of one Stephanie Plum; a colorful character whose name became prominent in the Trenton news 5 years before the date of her "death." Together Samantha and Elsa discovered the tales of adventure, fire bombings, car explosions, corpses, and gangland kidnappings in those archives. Every detail of Stephanie Plum's professional career as a bounty hunter seemed to be meticulously expounded upon by the press. And who could blame them? It was all so surreal and captivating. But in all that information, not one mention was made of her death. The Trenton Daily Star made the last known report on her on January 13th in 2008. It stated that her car had been found four days after she went missing looking for a fugitive named Curtis Manning. The police had fished the vehicle out of the east river in New York City.

After several months the newspaper carried a small follow-up blurb stating that she was presumed dead and legal proceedings by friends of the Plum family had been initiated to make it official in the eyes of the law. The saddest injustice of all seemed to be the fact that the information was buried on page nine.

_A dismal end to the life of this vibrant girl's mother,_ Elsa thought.

But what she said aloud was: "Oh my, she drowned."

"I don't believe it. Why would my family tell me she died in a fire if she really drowned?" Samantha pondered out loud.

"Oh, well dear, sometimes a parent has a hard time dealing with death so they make things up, I suppose. Maybe it made it easier to bear the loss if she was portrayed as a hero rushing into a fire, dying with family, rather than alone in a watery…" Elsa thought better of her next word. She finally recalled how old her companion was. There for a moment the girl had almost seemed like an adult...

"I think you should ask your father about it. I sure he'll explain the reasons behind the omission." Elsa said in way of consolation.

"I don't have a father. My aunt is the one who told me." Samantha stated as a matter-of-fact.

Elsa didn't have an answer for that surprise comment. It wasn't every day a woman of her age has to deal with telling a child, assumedly born out of wedlock, about the circumstances of her mother's death. She showed the girl how to copy the information she wanted and then scurried away, glad to be free of any further awkward conversation. After all, there was a reason she had decided to never have children.

As Sam stood at the printer, waiting for her records to be produced, a diminutive figure bumped into her legs. The motion almost made her stumble.

"Hey watch where you're go…" The words died prematurely when Sam saw her assailant for the first time.

"You are just as charming as your mother was, Sam, and with the same mouth to boot," chuckled the dwarf dressed in a stylish gray suit and accessorized with a Mickey Mouse tie. The rudeness of the stranger's comment cut through Sam's embarrassment on how to deal with some so different than herself or anyone she had ever met before.

"Hey, don't talk about my mother that way. You little…" Sam growled.

"As I said before, charming, but let me stop you there before you say something stupid." The man smiled.

"My name is Randy Briggs. I was a friend of your mother's." The smile faded.

"You look just like her, you know that, right? Well, except for the eyes," he finished.

"How do you know who my mother is? And my name, how do you know my name?" Sam asked with narrowed eyes.

Randy tugged on a shell of one ear.

"Mine may be little but they work just as well as yours, Miss Thing. Plus it helps that no one notices a little person eavesdropping. Out of sight, out of mind I always say." Randy declared by way of explanation and Sam blushed.

"Do you want my help finding out more about your mother?" He offered solicitously.

"What can you tell me that I haven't discovered on my own already?" She asked warily.

Randy pointed to the library computer internet terminal and wickedly grinned.

"It's not what I can tell you, Sam, but what I can show you…"

And with that sentence an impish pact was sealed and the two diligently went to work.

**Soon afterwards at an undisclosed location across the country…**

A nervous underling rushed into the office of his superior with the news.

"Sir, inquiries have been made on the Stephanie Plum name. Crypto decoded the source a few moments ago. Would you like the location?'

When his superior threw a phone at this head, the underling narrowly ducked out of the way of injury. He took the reaction for a resounding affirmative. He handed the angry man in black the paper with the coordinates.

"Find Tank and notify him that we are leaving for Jersey in fifteen. No make that ten. Notify the jet pilot that we will fly into the hanger via the helipad in time for take off," The tense man ordered.

When the young employee before him just stood there motionless, Ranger lost control of his temper.

"GO!"

As the man scurried away from his wrath, Ranger wrapped his fingers around the desk's edge and thrust all his conflicting emotions into the pressure of that grip. He didn't stop squeezing until he heard the wood groan in sympathy. When he removed his hand, a trickle of blood rolled down his fingers from his injured palm and onto the silver framed photograph on the desktop corner.

Ranger tenderly picked up the frame and tried to wipe away the blood splatter with the hem of his shirt. The droplet had landed just below the eye of the woman pictured. No matter how much he rubbed it, the photograph wouldn't come clean. It was now stained.

"Oh God, I miss you, Babe…" he whispered to the brunette pictured, who would be forever trapped in time.

Ranger knew then he would find the ones responsible for taking her from him and make them pay with the only currency he knew. The currency of blood…


End file.
